Parallels
by SChimes
Summary: 'She did know what enabling was.' A 'Personal Day' episode tag: following their conversation at the condo, Sharon and Rusty think some more about the situation with Sharon Beck, and how it's similar or different from things they already know.


**Guys, that SCENE. And that whole episode, really. **

**This is all inspired by the 'Do you know what enabling is...?" line and Sharon's 'Oh, yeah.' response. **

**Parallels**

Sharon sipped from the now-cold tea, not really tasting it.

Papers were still strewn in front of her on the dining table, but she'd lost track of the words. Her eyes were fixed on some undetermined point in the distance, her thoughts circling around a familiar topic.

She did know what enabling was.

Her fingers pressed absently against the porcelain cup.

How could she teach Rusty how to deal with this, when for decades she'd done such a terrible job dealing with it, herself? She didn't have the answers he was looking for. It had taken her years to realize that maybe there _were_ no right answers, in this kind of situation. If there were, she'd certainly never found them.

…_if she stops using drugs._

_But I don't want to be –_

…_definitely. never. living with her again._

_Glad you're doing better, but…_

_I don't want to –_

…_make her using or not using about me._

The things Rusty was telling her now, Sharon had told herself a hundred times over the years. But she'd fallen right back into the same old game time and again, anyway. Anger only made her wise for brief interludes, before guilt and love and hope pushed her down the same path as before. Over and over. Jack would do better. He was trying _so hard_. If only she could be there for him more. They'd really learned from their mistakes, this time. They'd make some new rules. Rewards. Curfews. Deals. Each new solution felt like the right one. The one that just had to work.

If she could've, she'd have given anything to spare Rusty the same vicious cycle.

But she couldn't tell him to walk away, because much as Dr. Joe told him – and the boy told her – otherwise, part of him still thought that he could've done _some_thing. She knew it to be wrong, but he'd go on thinking it anyway. If he didn't do his best with his mother, and things went… not well… part of him would always think that he could've tried harder.

Part of _her_ still felt that _she_ could've tried harder, even though she'd spent an awful lot of nights in the past twenty years telling herself different.

Yes, she did know what enabling was, all too well. Knew how to recognize it, now. Knew how to avoid it. Knew how to tell herself that her husband wasn't her responsibility, that you couldn't help people against their will, that everyone was ultimately responsible for themselves...

...but knowing something in one's head was one thing, and getting that knowledge past the tangle of resentment and guilt and hurt in one's heart was another thing entirely...

"…Sharon?"

She glanced up, her messy thoughts colliding against each other in disarray, at the sound of the boy's voice. He'd emerged from his room again, two of his SAT prep books in his arms; he was giving her a wary look.

"How's your case going…?"

The case? "Ah…" her eyes glanced over the scattered papers. To her surprise, she could barely make out the words anymore; it had gotten darker out without her noticing. "Slowly. We have a witness who seems to have lied on the stand…we're trying to understand why."

Rusty nodded, not saying anything for a few seconds. She gave him a thin smile and took another sip of her tea, grimacing a little at the stale taste. How long had she been sitting there?

"Listen uh, Sharon…"

She raised her eyes to meet his again, a wave of sympathy washing over her at the anxiety she saw there.

"I didn't, like… I know this thing with my mom is sort of uh, out of the blue for you, too… so, if you don't want to deal with it…"

"Rusty." She lowered the cup to the table top. "We've been over this already."

"I know, but… like, if I said anything to upset you, earlier…?"

What? "No, no," she hurried to assure him. "Rusty, I'm not upset. I was just thinking about…" But she couldn't tell him, could she? Her own experiences going through this kind of process were hardly encouraging; drawing the parallel between his mother and Jack would've only made things worse. "…about something else," she finished quietly.

"About Jack?"

What…?

Sharon hesitated, her eyebrows arching slightly. "Why would you think that?"

The boy gave a sort of half-shrug around the heavy books, and fixed her with a serious look. "I was thinking too, about… this whole thing with my mom, and… Like, Jack, didn't he use to… Sharon, how did you –"

She was already shaking her head. "Rusty, Jack is not your mother, and their cases are _very_ _different_ –"

"But they're not though, right?" He dropped his books on the sofa, then turned to face her again. "You were… really nice to my mom today. At – at the station."

After two years, his apparent non-sequiturs didn't surprise her anymore. "Your mother is going through a very hard time," she said softly. "I can… understand that. Going through rehab is incredibly difficult, physically, emotionally…But Rusty," she tilted her head at him, "the fact that _she's_ struggling doesn't mean that you can't be having a hard time, too. Addiction takes a toll not just on the person fighting it, but also on the people close to them, as well."

He pushed the tip of his shoe against the carpet. "Did you ever feel like this…?"

"I…" She paused. "Like what?"

Rusty gave her a bleak look. "I don't know… like, knowing what's probably gonna happen, but… but kind of hoping that everything gets better, anyway… only… I don't know, you're so _tired_ of having to go through the same thing again, that maybe it's not even worth waiting around to see if anything changes…?"

Her eyes welled up against her will. Yes – she had felt like that. But _he_ was too young to feel that. He shouldn't have to. If only–

"That's awful to say, isn't it?"

"No," Sharon said immediately, "it's not awful at all. It's – Rusty, all of that is normal." Her voice was getting thicker, and she swallowed. "You have all the right to feel that way."

"Did you ever feel like this with Jack?"

She paused.

Silence fell between them for a long moment.

"I mean…" Rusty began to backpedal, "If – okay, I know that's probably none of my business, Sharon, so –"

She held up a hand to stop him.

"I did," she said finally, deliberately, "to some extent, yes. And… if you want to talk about that, we _can_ – but like I said, Rusty…I don't think that my experiences with Jack will necessarily be of any relevance to your situation with your mother."

He looked doubtful of her words. No wonder – Sharon saw the parallels, herself, and a lot more clearly than Rusty could have. But there was no way to _know_ what would happen, this time, and…

"People who struggle with addiction… they're not all going about it the same way. Some try harder. Some succeed earlier. Some…" She shook her head. "You can't look at one person and predict what's going to happen with another."

…and she couldn't, _wouldn't_ risk biasing him with the story of her own mistakes; her history with Jack only showcased a long string of failures, and that wasn't what Rusty needed to see right now.

Maybe things would go differently for his mother.

Maybe they wouldn't.

"That's why you want to … 'make your own evaluation'? With my mom?"

Sharon hesitated. What could she say, 'no'? "Partially," she admitted. "But for the most part, I just want to be there _for you_." She met his eyes with a serious gaze, and the boy nodded, a little sad.

"I know… I know, Sharon." He swallowed, shifting on the balls of his feet. "So you don't think my mom is, like…" He trailed off, giving her an almost pleading look.

Sharon sighed. "It's impossible to tell. Everyone deals with addiction in their own way." It didn't feel like the answer he wanted. "But your mother is _here_, and… she's telling you that she wants to see you and _that_," she said softly, "is a good thing. So… let's take it from there."

"Right…"

His ambivalent expression was breaking her heart.

"There are a lot of people who successfully fight their addictions," she reminded him in a quiet tone.

"Yeah… and a lot of people who… don't."

Sharon nodded her acknowledgment, gathering the scattered papers on the table in a neat stack. "You'll have to wait and see what happens."

"Right… Okay." After another brief hesitation, the boy settled himself on the couch, next to the books. "Sharon… once you've uh, made your evaluation… will you tell me what you think? Like – what you _really_ think…?"

God.

"I…" That was a promise that she didn't want to make. "I will tell you," she offered quietly, "as much as I feel … confident… to tell you. Alright?"

It wasn't exactly what he'd asked for, but Rusty nodded anyway. Then he curled up deeper into the sofa and pulled one of the heavy books on his lap, a sure sign that he'd used up his resources for that conversation. With a soft sigh, Sharon traced a finger along the rim of her cup, then shook her head, and stood up to get a new pot of tea going.

She had a feeling that long, long days were coming.


End file.
